MirSan Week 2017
by rizahawkaye
Summary: A collection of drabbles for my favorite InuYasha pair!
1. Flirt: Pink

It was such an innocent day, except for the brush of his palm over her butt. To his delight and surprise, she didn't smack him. The vast hills they sat admiring didn't ring with the sound of her strong hand imprinting itself in his face. Instead, without so much as glancing in his direction, she placed a hand on his thigh.

Then she moved it up, her eyes fixated on the green grass flitting around in the wind. His cheeks flushed pink.

Miroku sucked in a breath and waited for her to stop. Her hand kept creeping, though, and through all his talk and all his groping he wasn't actually sure he would know what to do with her if she…when she…

"Sango!" he stumbled sideways out of her grasp. She turned her eyes on him, all warm and brown. "What are you _doing_?"

"Flirting," she responded, blinking at him. "Kagome's idea."

 _Of course it was Lady Kagome's idea_ , he thought to himself. He waited to return to Sango's side until the sound of his beating heart subsided in his ears.

"That made you uncomfortable, didn't it?" She asked him when he reclaimed his spot beside her. He was thoughtful for a moment; unsure of whether or not he should admit to her that he wasn't so suave after all. Surely she'd seen his blush, caught the deep pink tinge flashing over his features, but he was apprehensive anyway. He had a front to keep.

When he didn't answer, Sango put a hand on his arm. He flinched, but stayed seated. "Well, Houshi-sama, that's how I feel when you pat my butt." She looked at him sternly. Her nose scrunched up as she scrutinized his face. She'd given him one serious nod as the words left her lips.

Miroku knew he wasn't supposed to do it, but he did anyway. He giggled at her. His shoulders bobbed as he huffed out laughter, the severity of it increasing with every intake of breath. Sango gasped. "I'm serious," she said. "It's not funny, Houshi-sama!"

"I know, Sango, I'm sorry," he replied, wiping small tears from the corners of his eyes. She glowered at him, her hand twisted into his sleeve. He smiled at her. "If that is truly how it makes you feel then I can _try_ to break the habit. For you."

She pulled back from him, her eyebrows rising in disbelief. A warm breeze caught her hair and flung it over her shoulder. Her bangs flew chaotically around her face, so Miroku reached out and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks flushed pink. "Thank you, Houshi-sama," she said, turning back to the view of the hills.

"No need to thank me," he told her. She tipped her head onto his shoulder. He placed a hand on her thigh.

The hills rang.


	2. Jealousy: Green

Snow capped every mountain, every hill, and every peak. It layered the lively green that had withered to brown, turning the soil to slush. The air was cold enough that sunlight shone blindingly bright off the crystalized water without melting it. Miroku found himself squinting uncomfortably when he moved his eyes from the safety of his own shadow. He tried to keep his head down enough to spare himself the pain as he trekked through the piles, flanked by his companions.

Winter was not a favorite season for the monk. Ever since he was a boy he shied away from the ice, from the way snow dampened his robes and made him feel numb to the bone. Winter was when he had learned the most, holed away in the temple that was his home, reading books and practicing script, spells, and pick-up lines. He was mildly irritated that there was no temple to retreat to now, as InuYasha, Kagome, Sango, and Shippo kicked the iced water up around them, sometimes pausing in their advance to pelt crude balls of it at one another.

Inevitably, someone nabbed Miroku in the back of the head. He stumbled forward with the thud of the hard-packed ice. "Oops," Kagome smiled at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Miroku."

"Hey, Miroku," InuYasha barked from a place near a line of snow-topped trees. He was prowling about for untouched snow, dodging it as it slipped off branches. "Quit your frowning."

"Yeah, why don't you like the snow, Miroku?" Shippo piped. He was rolling a small snowman into existence with the help of Kirara, who nudged pieces into place with her nose.

Miroku was about to answer, his mouth poised to give them a lecture on all the ways in which snow was unpleasant. They watched him with anticipation, but before he could let a word fall off his tongue Sango interrupted. "It's only a little frozen water," she said, swaying toward him, the tips of her fingers dripping from where ice had warmed against her skin.

It wasn't Sango's words that made Miroku slowly tap his jaw shut, but the rare smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. The dull green of the winter trees began to glow with her contentedness, the color of it overtaking the pang of sunlight reflecting off the snow. He swallowed his intended retort. "I'm only mourning the green of life," he said instead.

The cool air had nipped at Sango's face and left it flushed, like the color of the sky when the sun goes down in spring. Her eyes glittered when she glanced over the white landscape. "This is the way life pauses to start refreshed, Houshi-sama. Green will return in time, but for now why don't we all enjoy being cold and wet together, as friends do?"

Miroku nodded at her. As much as he detested the cold grey of winter, he supposed he could grin and bear it as long as the green of spring was alive in Sango's smile. He bent down and scooped snow into his hand. Balancing his staff in the crook of his elbow, he curved the ice into a snowball and hurled it in InuYasha's direction. InuYasha ducked, and the icy ball split into pieces against the trunk of a tree. It didn't take long for a (substantially larger) orb of ice to be flung back in response.

Soon Miroku's lungs were burning with the chill of the air. He forgot about the numbness that was creeping its way into his body until the snow fight was through, and he rubbed his hands together in a desperate attempt to get some feeling in his fingers again. Sango took his hands in hers, which had been heated by the insulation that was Kirara's fur. Miroku winced at the feeling of blood rushing through his cooled tissues. "You're not mourning the green anymore, are you?" She asked him.

"Not at all," he replied. "I've found it in something else."


	3. Promise: Red

As far as Miroku could tell, the fight began in the red light of sunset. Sango, his ethereal wife, paced, fumed, and stuttered against the warm glow of the descending sun. She was red-faced, her shade bleeding into the yellow to orange to red sky. He should have been more ashamed, or more frightened, at least, of the way her hands opened then clamped shut erratically at her sides. Instead he was intrigued, his eyes following the red hot mess of her anger.

He sputtered that he was sorry in a sort of numb, obligate king of way. He wanted her to simmer down. She only tsked at him in response, and he sighed.

Shamefully, when she approached him with the smoke of a fire misting from her mouth, his only reaction had been to kiss her. His wife, who he'd just spent an inordinate amount of time from. She'd protested only at first, her lips tugging against his as though she meant to keep spitting flames at him while he worked at dousing them away. She melted when he took her face between his hands, the heat hissing as it steamed off her body.

Miroku had been absent from the village he shared with his small family for a month at best. He'd gone, lead footed, to answer a call for a demon extermination, as was his job. "Come back quicker this time," Sango had pleaded to him the morning of his departure, his two daughters wrapped around her legs, peering up at him with uncertain tears swirling around in their eyes. "It's frightening for us when you're gone too long."

If Miroku had known he'd end up moving further into the warring states than he initially intended, he wouldn't have promised his pretty, purse-lipped wife that he'd be home soon. A simple extermination proved to be more arduous than he first thought, and as he chased his prey across the country the weeks began to blur until he finally wound up home, a significant amount of money in his pockets, but too many cuts and bruises in his skin. His wife had blanched at the sight of them.

"I want you to promise me, and I mean really promise me," Sango said to him as she pulled away from his kiss, the antagonism falling from her. She furled her hands into his robes and pressed her forehead hard against his chest. The red of the sunset changed to a deep blue. "That you'll take me next time. The girls would be fine with InuYasha, and our son is nearly old enough for solid food. Rin could care for him."

"An exterminating husband and wife duo," he said, musing. "With you by my side my efficacy would surely quadruple."

"Damn right," she mumbled into the fabric of his robes. He folded her in his arms, glad that the red had faded enough for him to (safely) do so.

"I promise," he breathed into her hair. "I wouldn't dare turn down such a positive business opportunity."


End file.
